


The Dignified Suitor

by blueberryscowler



Category: Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica - James A. Owen
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humour, Platonic Love, Seemingly banal oddities, Theatre, author not a native english speaker, narrator sometimes breaking the fourth wall, post-First Dragon AU where Tummeler is still alive, references to other fandoms - Freeform, sometimes truly banal oddities, typical CotIG stranegness at times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryscowler/pseuds/blueberryscowler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabel Lee, a former Lost Boy who works for Mr Tummeler, gets a chance to fulfill her childhood dream, but unforseen changes in the weather make it much different from what she expected it to be. (Summary will be revised soon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You know such a nice day of early Spring, when the air is still cold, but the sun is getting much, much stronger and everything is absolutely beautiful?  
  
Sure, you do.  
  
Annabel Lee loved such days, not only those days, of course, as she had much love for all seasons and all kinds of weather and generally all good things there were.  
  
"Like blueberries," said Fred. "They are 'specially good."  
  
Annabel Lee nodded and put another piece of cake on her plate. "Certainly. Blueberries are among the goodest things there are and dare nobody tell us otherwise. Who'd be happier about a good slice of blueberry cake than us, 'xcept your elders, of course."  
  
"And Charles," said Fred. "Charles loves 'em. Grandpa told him how good they are. And how powerful."  
  
'Twas noontide near the end of March, when everyone went lunatic, in particular the hares. The birds were twittering and their mechanical cousins were humming like bumblebees.  
  
"My favourite word," said Annabel Lee.  
  
"Huh?" said Fred.  
  
"Bumblebee. It is a very pretty word, isn't it?"  
  
"O, of course. Cute they are. As long, as they don't want our cake that is." And he was right - a bumblebee, a natural bumblebee, to be more specific – was heading towards their garden table. It was an exceptionally beautiful specimen, with strong yellow stripes and particularly delicate wings. Annabel Lee loved the sight of it and wondered if the insect went to her school, as she was certain she had seen her on the old corridor.  
  
"Caik! Caik!" it squeaked. "Wif bwooberrs! Bwooberrs!"  
  
Annabel Lee let out a sigh, and made a signal for the small insect to eat the rest of her cake, instead of Fred's.  
  
"I hope you like it well," said she.  
  
"Vrry wll, Mss. Zzt whait noogutt crrreem, bzzz?"  
  
"Yes, it is. And lots of cuckoonutt flaikzzz."  
  
"Coconut?" asked Fred. "I had no idea."  
  
"Any noos?" asked Annabel Lee and the bumblebee responded: "Yeeewr, yeewr. Can yewr bveeve, springzzz come. And can yewr bveeve, mech-an-ic-al beezz and flamingerrzz open new varieté. And can yewr bveeve, tarot men are opening a newr zzzop for drezzzezz and hatzz."  
  
"Tarot men?" Fred raised an eyebrow. Don't you mean Playing Card men?"  
  
"No. Tarot. And can yewr bveeve, there'zz much new miczze. Mech-an-ic-al and nat-urr-al. They make nice pralines, but their intrigentzzz are stolen. That'zz it. Have a nice day. Thankzz for the caik."  
  
And so, the bumblebee left.  
  
"An interesting encounter," noted Fred and took another piece of cake, now that he was certain that he wouldn't swallow a bumblebee.  
  
"Why don't you just become a baker, Annabel Lee?"  
  
"You wish," said she. "But I know where my place is, even if it might exhaust you. We'll continue our work, once we are done with cake, alright?"  
  
"Or just _now_ ," suggested a strict voice behind her back, causing Annabel Lee to sigh and Fred to roll his eyes.  
  
It was Trebleclef, his grandfather's assistant and his own former babysitter, who constantly invented new plans to make Annabel Lee work. He was not an unpleasant person, in general, but he was suspicious of a Daughter of Eve working among them.  
  
"I'll hurry up, neh? Fred, dearest, enjoy your cake. But do see me, when you are done eating."  
  
"When he is done studying," he was corrected by Trebleclef and Fred scowled at him, as his grandfather's assistant had to learn, that he was not a cub anymore, but a Caretaker of the _Imaginarium Geographica_.  
  
He sighed, finished his last piece of cake, and followed Annabel Lee, to the same building, though not to the same room.  
  
  
The pressroom was large, and smelled of ink and paper, and Annabel Lee loved it dearly. It was her favourite room in the publishing house, even though the work she had to do there was of the least interesting kind. One wall, the one set to the North, was all covered in misprints, forming a great literary collage. It was her idea, or possibly it was Uncas's idea, she forgot. Uncas was Fred's father, who used to work at _Tummeler & Sons Publishing on Paralon_, before he was to follow a greater calling, although he still visited his former workplace and future property frequently.  
  
About a year ago, in the middle of the night, when he returned from one of his famous adventures, and when Annabel Lee was chosen by Trebleclef to work the night shift, he not only brought a massive bottle of Leprechaun Whiskey with him, but also decided to help Annabel Lee, as he liked her a lot and missed his old occupation. The next day, the wall looked the way it did now, and became one of the most loved places on Paralon.  
  
Annabel Lee sighed, took a manuscript from a pile (it was called "The Secret Letters of Bustopher Jones") and quickly browsed through it, before she would do her work, when she suddenly heard a familiar voice whisper her name.  
  
"Annabel Lee? You alone?" asked the voice.  
  
"Neh, sure. Come in!" answered Annabel Lee.  
  
"That be fine. I've got to hide somethin', could ya help?"  
  
"What do you have to hide, Laura Glue?" asked Annabel Lee and then ran to hug her old friend, taking care not to damage her wings.  
  
"Violins," said her friend.  
  
"Violins?" asked Annabel Lee.  
  
"Violins!" repeated her friend. "But not for long. I just don't know where to keep them, and I thought you could help, as Lost Boys do."  
  
"As Lost Boys do. Are they stolen?"  
  
"Nay, 'course not. Nothing's stolen anymore, that's why I have to hide them. They're not mine, but the owner knows.  
  
Has Fred told you about that strange blue time-travel what-not Poe had shown him?"  
  
Annabel Lee nodded, then tilted her head.  
  
"From that strange Doctor. Well, ya know, Charles met just exactly that Doctor, when playing with dimensions."  
  
Annabel Lee gasped. " _Neh_ , he did?"  
  
"Neh, he _did_. And as it shall be, he learned that box was stolen, and not at all given to Poe by him. So, when Charles told him about the thing, he claimed it back. So, your namer had to give in, for sure. First, Poe insisted that it was not the same Doctor, because he looked much different, but the Doctor insisted that he was still the same, no matter what he looked like, and Poe did give in then."  
  
"And then? What about the violins?" asked Annabel Lee.  
  
"The _violins_ were inside the box. Could you believe it? He used it as a store for them, because he ran out of space. One of his strange hobbies, collecting violins. He can't even play," she added. "So, first he decided to keep them at Tamerlane House, but Coraline began to eat them, one after another, until Poe decided they were too expensive and we had enough goat food, anyway. So then, he sent me to find a better place for them. And then, I thought of you."  
  
"Of me."  
  
"That's what I just said, neh?"  
  
  
The former Lost Boy called Annabel Lee carefully placed the cardboard box filled with violins below the cardboard boxes in the storeroom, then took a pencil out of her pocket and wrote "The Importance of the Metaphysical Aspects of the Lower Frames of 18th century Trumps" on it, as certainly nobody would care to buy a copy of it, especially since it was not published by _Tummeler & Sons_ or anyone else, considering it was not a real book.  
  
" _What_ , Miss Annabel Lee, are you doing there?"  
  
The voice sounded exceptionally similar to Trebleclef, in both timbre and emphasis.  
  
"But the accent is not quite right," noted Annabel Lee. "Mediocre actors talk like that, when trying to sound like Lyonese badgers. Nice try, love. But not too convincing."  
  
"That is no answer to my question," said Fred.  
  
"Hiding violins," said Annabel Lee.  
  
"O, sure."  
  
"And just look what I have found in one of them."  
  
She handed over a letter to her friend, who took, unfolded and then read it, smiling all through it.  
  
"Did you know?" he asked and Annabel Lee chuckled.  
  
"How could I? But isn't it brilliant, I am so happy for her!"  
  
Her friend's wedding was indeed a wonderful message, as Annabel Lee was among the romantic sort of people, wishing a Happily Ever After for any person she liked, and she liked most everyone. Edmund McGee, the young Cartographer, was just a right fit for Laura Glue, and so she highly approved of her friend's relationship. Fred, too, liked both of them a lot and was just as happy as Annabel Lee.  
  
"Have some lemonade," said Fred and handed a small bottle over to Annabel Lee, who gladly took it. The lemonade was, of course, blueberry.  
  
"How did your studies go?" asked she and her friend shrugged.  
  
"Ya know, I much prefer Ancient Semitic over Celtic languages, but I am gen'relly doin' fine. Just a lil' tired, as you might hear."  
  
She did hear, and she was tired, too. She printed what felt like a million books before going down to hide the violins. The risk of being found out before finishing her work was too high and she had to bring several boxes down to the bookbinders, so one more would not be noticed.  
  
Yawning, she leaned back, only to overturn another manuscript filled cardboard box. You might consider such a coincidence to amazing be real, but I tell you, it is true.  
  
"What is it?" asked Fred, and Annabel Lee took a copy.  
  
" _'The Dignified Suitor' - an Edwardian Comedy in Three_ _Acts by Mr B. Tummeler_. Did you know he was working on another play?" she asked the author's grandson, who shook his head and quickly picked up another copy from the floor.  
  
"He used to isolate himself a bit in the last weeks. I thought he was still a bit exhausted from the happenings on Youkali. Apparently, he was working. I had no idea."  
  
The comedy appeared to be of the profane kind, about a young viscount, whose new fiancée looked surprisingly much like the street girl he recently met and about whose identity he was not quite sure anymore.  
  
"That's just _perfect_." said Annabel Lee.  
  
"O, _don't_!" sighed Fred.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Very good tea," noted Annabel Lee.  
  
It was, indeed, very good tea: black, with chocolate, cream and garnished with wild berries, ranging from rasp to straw, and from black to, of course, blue.  
  
"I'm glad ya like it, my dear," said the younger Mrs Tummeler, and Mrs Tummeler (who was never called "the older Mrs Tummeler" as everyone was sure she would not like that) eagerly nodded in agreement.  
  
"And how'do ya like it, Fred, m'dear?" asked Mrs Tummeler.  
  
"Quite a lot, as usual, Granma" said Fred, which was true. He always liked it, but today not more or less than any other time, and he often got to drink it.  
  
For Annabel Lee, however, it was special, as people rarely cared to make tea for her, especially not of such a wonderful kind. Fred's mother and grandmother were always incredibly friendly towards her, but she rarely had the time to meet them. She decided, that she should change that, and not for the tea.  
  
"When do you think will Mr Tummeler be back?" she asked Mrs Tummeler, who shrugged.  
  
"I dunno, Daughter'f Eve. Why d'ya need him so much? Is sumthin' wrong at work?"  
  
Annabel Lee shook her head and smiled.  
  
"No, not at all," she said. "I would just like to talk to him privately. About one of his plays," she quickly added, when Mrs Tummeler's whiskers started to twitch.  
  
Fred and his mother, the younger Mrs Tummeler, started to laugh and Mrs Tummeler slowly joined them, then pouring more tea in everyone's cups and sitting down beside her son's wife. Damaris was quite a beauty, thought Annabel Lee. She had an unusually beautiful pelt, and always used to wear the most original dresses, ever since her husband became a squire to a famous knight and brought her gifts from various countries, worlds, times and dimensions. Today, she was wearing a bright orange tunic, that was originally made for a Daughter of Eve, and stitched up by a very talented sloth tailor. It took a long while, but it was worth it, as Damaris looked lovely in it. She was a very nice badger lady, although she could be slightly petulant at times, thanks to the long absence of her husband, and her general intellectual underload, and so she was very thankful for Annabel Lee to visit her.  
  
"Don't mind Arabella, my dear," she said. "You know, she always worries that someone would take dear Tummeler away from her. And rightfully so," she added as Mrs Tummeler scowled at her, and Fred chuckled again, only to get the back of his head lightly slapped, causing him to splutter his tea.  
  
You might wonder what a badger's sett looks like, but don't worry, as I can tell you. The first Oxford Scowler who cared was Charles, as he dearly wanted to visit his best friend, Mr Tummeler. The first Oxford Scowler who felt quite at home there was Jack, as he liked any warm and comfortable place, whether it be a house, or a cave. The first Oxford Scowler who included it in his work was John, _as a badger's sett was not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a badger-sett, and that means comfort.  
_  
In a badger's sett, every door, window, everything was round, and just roomy enough to not feel locked in, and just small enough to feel safe and secure. This kind of feeling always confused Annabel Lee, as the Lost Boys grew up happy, in their own way, but much, much different. She always felt a tiny bit locked in, but she got more and more used to it, whenever she visited her friends, which she did whenever she had to borrow a book.  
  
The Tummeler home had plenty of books, which is to expect from a family of publishers, whose youngest offspring happens to be a Scowler. There were shelves filled with at least one copy of every book _Tummeler & Sons_ have published over the last generations (it was a very old publishing company, started much before Mr Tummeler's grandparents knew of each other) and there were shelves filled various copies of Charles Williams's work, and shelves filled with all the other Scowlers' work. One shelf was dedicated to Mr Tummeler's own work, including the play "The Last of the Phoenicians", "The Little Whatsit" (a summary of the entire Library of Alexandria), the public version of the _Imaginarium Geographica_ , and his own masterpiece, called "Mr. B. Tummeler Esquire Presents Exotik Foods of the Lands and How They Is Cookt", which is not only the pride of the family, but also the source of Annabel Lee's white nougat caik.  
  
Uncas's favourite shelf was filled with various editions of the story of "Don Quixote" and Damaris's shelf beside it was filled with various books about theology and philosophy, occasionally seperated by unique books Uncas sent to her from his travels.  
  
Her favourite was called "He found Life" and she often read aloud from it to her son and husband - that is, when she got to meet them in spite of their work.  
  
Mrs Tummeler's shelf was mostly filled with rare cookbooks, but there were some political literature in between, and nobody was entirely sure whether or when she read it.  
  
Fred's own shelf was filled with childrens' books, poetry, books about ancient languages, books written by Caretaker Emeriti just for him, various editions of Gilgamesh, and several books about Romantic theology and early monotheism.  
  
Annabel Lee's favourite shelf was the "Corner of Lost Books" as Mr Tummeler used to call it, which included books written by famous authors after their death, books written by animals that are never heard of in the Summer Country and still fairly unknown in the Archipelago, books that were not written by sentient beings, but appeared out of nowhere, and books that are considered to be destroyed by most Scowlers.  
  
She understood little of those books, but she loved Fred and occasionally Damaris or Charles to explain them to her.  
  
The most prominent colours in the Tummeler's home were red and green, with some gold and Indigo in between. The chairs were all cuddly and green, the floor-lenght curtains were red, and so were the tablecloths. The wooden parts of the furniture ranged from birch to mahagony, giving each room a unique kind of shading. The walls were all painted in bright colours, some of them featuring animals, some literary or Biblical scenes, other featuring pictures of food (mostly blueberries) and others looked just like the view out of the window.  
  
The sett was incredibly large, as badger's lived in clans, and _Tummeler & Sons_ was meant quite literally, only that each son was a Tummeler, and each Tummeler had sons.  
  
Many Tummelers worked at the publishing house, but some worked for the Royal Animal Rescue Squad, others at the Great Whatsit or in any other way related to the Prendragon.  
  
Some Tummelers even worked abroad, and there were many badgers from other clans who worked at _Tummeler & Sons_.

  
I feel for Annabel Lee, who began to feel more uncomfortable with every minute she spent at the Tummeler's sett, not being able to say what she wanted, just drinking tea and feeling her dearest friend's mother and grandmother staring at her. She must have felt dreadful! And just when she decided it would be best to make up a polite reason to leave, the door creaked and Mr Tummeler came in, followed by Trebleclef and -  
  
"Uncas!" said Damaris excitedly and ran towards him, with her son following her.  
  
"You fine, Uncas?" asked Mrs Tummeler. It was difficult for her to accept her son's profession and she was always worried that something bad may happen to him.  
  
"F'course, I'm fine! And glad t' be home!"  
  
"How's Quixote?" asked Fred, who beamed at his father.  
  
"He's all fine, and on a vacation at Tamerlane!"  
  
"Well," said Mrs Tummeler with tears in her eyes, "I shall make some more tea and get us crackers!"  
  
"I will," said Fred, and Annabel Lee, who just greeted Trebleclef, shook Tummeler's paw and embraced Uncas, followed him to the kitchen.

  
The kitchen had a dark red wallpaper, featuring various fruits, baked goods and flowers, and a large table in the room's center, with many birds carved on its side. It was a very nice and warm room, with a large round window on one side, and a beautiful fireplace on the other.  
  
"You know, you could tell him now," said Fred and Annabel Lee frowned, while frantically garnishing the tea cups with blueberries.  
  
"I don't think I should. He might not want anyone to read it by now, and Trebleclef could get really angry. I also don't want to ruin your family reunion. I will ask him another time. Or I will just arrive at the auditions, in case there will be some. There will, right?" she added, and Fred chuckled.  
  
"Scaredy-kitten, you be. But don't you wait till it's too late. You are great."  
  
"If I am great, I will get chosen. Do not dare to ask him on your own, did you hear me?"  
  
"Aye, ma'am," said Fred, "But ya know, blueberries are certainly good, but they still need to fit in the cup!"  
  
Annabel Lee sighed, and then laughed, and then sobbed. "You know Fred, it's one of those days..."  
  
"Aw, I don't want to know!"  
  
" _One of those days_ , when I just feel like such a fool. If your grandfather chose me, it would only because I work for him, and we are friends! Or that would be what the critics write! Or _that_ would be what Tummeler fears, which is why he won't cast me!"  
  
Fred took a leprechaun cracker and slowly chewed it down, scowling on his paws.  
  
"You know, I think that's right," he said. "Those thoughts are truly foolish. Let's go down, before the tea is cold again.  
  
And before I have eaten all crackers."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part of the badger sett's description that is written in italics is, with slight changes, taken from J. R. R. Tolkien's The Hobbit.


	3. Chapter 3

"How's your wife, Gideon?" was heard from the living room, and Annabel Lee made a very surprised face.  
  
"Who's Gideon?"  
  
"Trebleclef," said Fred.  
  
"Why do we call him Trebleclef?"  
  
"He's the oldest Trebleclef. It's his surname. Whe also call granpa 'Mr Tummeler', after all."  
  
"What's his first name, then?"  
  
"B."  
  
"Bee, like bumble?"  
  
"Shush, I don't want that annoying insect to come here! She's such a gossip and eats all our cake. No, it's 'Mr B-dot Tummeler'."  
  
"And what does 'B-dot' stand for?"  
  
"Don't expect my grandchildren to know I'm called Fred, child. Badgers have the habit of naming their children quite... oddly. I wouldn't be surprised if it was merely 'Badger'.  
  
"No, Fred," said Annabel Lee. "What is it?"  
  
Her friend chuckled and opened the door, leaving a grumpy Annabel Lee behind. "Alohomora," said Fred.  
  
"What does that mean?" asked Trebleclef, whose name was Gideon.  
  
"I don't know, but it sounds like something you should say while opening a door."  
  
  
Badgers always enjoyed tea and crackers. This happens to be a fact. Annabel Lee was very much like a badger. This happens to be a truth. Over the course of the evening, four plates of crackers and twenty-eight cups of tea have been emptied, followed by two bottles of extraterrestrial wine, which Uncas brought from his last adventure with his Spanish knight. It was not made from grapes, but a kind of orange fruit that smelled similar to a mango, but tasted completely different. When Mrs Tummeler got drunk, and Damaris got tired, the two of them went to bed, and left Annabel Lee with Fred, Uncas, Mr Tummeler and Trebleclef.   
  
"I'm sure, t'was a pelican." said Fred.  
  
"Beg ya pardon?"  
  
"Pelican, m' dear Anna-Belly. Wasn't it, pop?"  
  
"Ya mean the bird that told us about the fruit? No, no. Pelicans are teetotalers."  
  
"What a pity," said Anna-Belly, pardon me, Annabel Lee, and wrapped her arms around Fred, causing Uncas to chuckle.   
  
"Yes, they don't have t' be teetotalers, they're _birds_!" said Fred and ate another cracker.  
  
"You tawkin' badger, dearest," said Annabel Lee.  
  
"An' so do you, Daughter of Eve," said Uncas.  
  
"I have something to tell you," interrupted Tummeler. He longed to say this for the whole evening.   
  
"There's still a woman present," said Trebleclef.  
  
"Hey, I be a Lost Boy," said Annabel Lee.  
  
"That be true," said Uncas.  
  
"Tell us, grandpa," said Fred.  
  
"I will tell," said Tummeler. And so, he did. He wrote _The Dignified Suitor_ mainly for his own entertainment, never intending it to be made public, until he let Steve, the Zen Detective, read it. Much to either man's surprise, Aristophanes - I am sorry, I mean Steve - liked it very much and suggested Tummeler should make sure the original production would take place this Summer. Now, the theatres on Paralon were very good and they had shown the original productions of many famous plays, quite a lot of them popular in the Summer Country, and Tummeler's own most famous play, _The Last Of The Phoenicians_ , had made him a quite good name on the Narroway. His newest play would be funny, charming, and not at all _dignified_. In other words, it would be perfect.   
  
"We'll start auditions next moon," said Tummeler, "but first, I want you all t' read it. Your opinions mean very much t' me, and aside from Mrs Tummeler and Damaris, who wouldn't like it, I can't think of anyone who'd be better to judge my work."  
  
"What about Charles?" asked Fred.  
  
"I've sent him a copy," said Tummeler. "And Trebleclef here has already read it."  
  
"It is certainly good," said Trebleclef, "but not my cup of tea."  
  
Uncas chuckled over that remark and turned over a page. "Yeah, cettenly looks like somethin' Steve would like. You've had a lotta fun, writing this, right Pop? I bet Mama would not be amused. And Damaris would be annoyed," he added with a sigh. "She never enjoys the really good comedies."  
  
"She's serious, but not always," said Fred, and that was true. Damaris had quite her own sense of humour, and Fred inherited quite a bit of it, but it was not exactly in line with Uncas's idea of fun, and it only showed up on rare occasions.   
  
Annabel Lee still stared on the first page, and said nothing at all, causing her friend, Fred, to scowl. He didn't say anything, of course, but that didn't keep the others from noticing.  
  
"You alright, Miss?" asked Uncas and touched her arm with a paw.  
  
"I told you it's not suitable for her!" said Tebleclef, who then scowled at Fred rolling his eyes. Then her friend asked: "Annabel? What's wrong?"  
  
"You called me Annabel, that's wrong, _Fre_. But this is quite _Awesome_ , indeed. When are auditions again? April?"  
  
"Bangarang," whispered Fre, no Fred, to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but normal formatting now. Might take some time until the next one.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was shining on that neat day in April, and the flowers on Paralon stood in full bloom. The putti and swallows played hide and seek in the tree holes, and the hummingbirds shared sweet nectar and vulgar gossip with the bumblebees. On each side of the Narroway, between the theatres, stood small, mobile shops. Annabel Lee, who wore her best Sunday dress on that Saturday, grabbed Fred by his paw and headed directly towards one that sold ice cream.  
  
"Good morning, sir," said Annabel Lee. "I'd like some blueberry and chocolate ice cream with caramel syrup for my friend, and pomegranate and lemon sorbet for me. With sprinkles," she added.  
  
The ice cream man was a very friendly fellow made from cardboard. He prepared both cones for his customers, and kindly wished Annabel Lee to break her leg. She left him quite a good tip.  
  
"Protectionism," said Fred and licked his ice cream. "That's what they'll say. But do ignore them, alright?" He had spent most of the day telling his friend about the possibilities of bad reviews and negative criticism in case she would get cast, in order to prepare her for what might come. It didn't calm Annabel Lee down at all.  
  
"But don't worry, Anna-Belly. It will be alright."  
  
Annabel Lee scowled at the badger. "I don't like that new nickname," she said.  
  
Fred chuckled. "But I am a Namer, Annabel Lee. I have named Madoc a Nephilim before the Deluge came. If I can do that, I can give pet names to little girls like you..." Fred did not at all want to brag about the happenings in the First City, but he did sometimes few Annabel Lee as a pet. "But of course," he said. "You have your Namer, huh?"  
  
Annabel Lee scowled again and went on. "I'm worried, Fred. What if I'm just not good enough? Did you ever consider that?"  
  
He looked at her and said: "No!" Annabel Lee sighed looked around. A mechanical shoebill in drag came along, humming a showtune. He greeted the two of them, then asked how to reach the _New Pendragon Theatre_.  
  
"Funny, that's exactly what we're heading for," said Fred and smiled. "Just come with us."  
  
Annabel Lee said nothing, she was too anxious. The weather was beautiful and everyone cheerful and she thought it was just to good of a day already to be successful for her.  
  
It was not a long way to the _New Pendragon_ and the they were not in a hurry, so they sometimes paused to look at the cherry and almond trees and to listen to the butterflies' singing. The shoebill didn't like ice cream and so he chose to buy a bag of pistacio nuts.  
  
"A great decision," said Annabel Lee. "I know someone who would approve."  
  
The Children of the Earth were not exactly orderly when it came to matters of traffic, so the Curious Diversity was parked beside the other principles in front of the theatre. It was a large Art Nouveau building designed by a Mystorian, and it was dedicated to King Artus. The shoebill's eyes widened at the sight of it.  
  
"Are you new on Paralon?" asked Annabel Lee, and the shoebill nodded.  
  
"I have arrived just yesterday as I heard of the auditions for Mr B. Tummeler's new play. I am from a provincial isle but aspire to be a thespian. And now, that a Child of the Earth is such a renowned playwright, I have high hopes for people like myself."  
  
Fred clapped his paws and smiled. "I know what you mean. 'Tis been a long way. Well, then. Mazel tov, my friends."  
  
Annabel Lee took a deep breath. "Alright, let's go in."

* * *

  
Mr Tummeler sat in the second row, with Trebleclef to his left, and a man to his right, who read a paper.  
  
"Fred, Annabel Lee, great to see you!" said Tummeler. "And who is your friend?" he asked.  
  
The shoebill went to center stage. "My name is Abelard Antwan, and I grew up and studied Drama on Galma."  
  
"Which school?" asked the man to Tummeler's right.  
  
"There is only one," said Abelard with a frown.  
  
"That's correct," said the man, and now Annabel Lee frowned, too.  
  
The man stood up and introduced himself: "My name is Starlightside-in-the-Morning, and Mr Tummeler chose me as the director of _The Dignified Suitor_."  
  
"A human. A natural human," whispered Abelard to Fred. He did not like the idea of a play written by a Child of the Earth to be directed by a human, as there were quite enough jobs for people like Starlightside-in-the-Morning. What interested Annabel Lee, was his name, as it was oddly familiar.  
  
"I assume you all have read the libretto?" asked the man called Starlightside-in-the-Morning. Fred saw that he had tanned skin and auburn hair. Annabel Lee, Abelard and two dozen other hopeful young people nodded. Most of them were Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, but there were some Children of the Earth among them, and some were man-made.  
  
"Now, then. Play any scene of your choice, in any way you'd interpret it. Just do it."  
  
Chaos erupted in this very moment, as everyone recited some seemingly randomly chosen lines in the most different manners, traditionally and some modern, some serious and some funny. A few of them sung, to popular melodies and original compositions, some of them switched their parts every two lines. Most still read from their scripts, but a few of them knew the lines by heart, among them a very handsome clockwork man. It was quite brilliant.  
  
Starlightside-in-the-Morning watched them carefully and occasionally whispered something to Mr Tummeler. Fred, who had taken a seat behind his grandfather could hardly understand him. He assumed it was a kind of theatre language, or just an odd way of talking. Trebleclef seemed to ignore the spectacle and concentrated on a blueberry cheese review in his _Badger's Weekly_.  
  
For Annabel Lee, there was no Starlightside-in-the-Morning, no Mr Tummeler, no competitors. She read some lines, knew some by heart, tried different characters. Of course, she prepared herself for the role of Evangeline and Bernadette, but she would have also been very happy with a minor part. It was the most unusual audition Annabel Lee ever witnessed and the only thing she worried about was, that Starlightside-in-the-Morning and Mr Tummeler would not see the ability of every contender.  
  
Suddenly, about an half an hour later, Starlightside-in-the-Morning said: "Auditions are over. Mr Tummeler and I will tell you about the parts you've got in about an hour. Probably sooner, so don't stay away too long."  
  
"Does that mean we all got a part?" asked a woman who stood behind Abelard.  
  
"At least in the ensemble," said Mr Tummeler. "We expected more to come."  
  
"And what are we to do now?" asked a mouse who just went through her first audition.  
  
"Eat some ice cream. The cardboard man has cheese among his flavours," said Annabel Lee who always loved to help.  
  


* * *

  
"I suddenly feel ill," said Abelard. "I think a gearwheel in my left wing got rusty."  
  
"I think I have to vomit," said Annabel Lee and ate another pistachio nut from Abelard's bag.  
  
"I am tired," Fred and leaned on his side. They sat in a row near the back of the theatre, far away from the other actors, who nervously walked up and down the Narroway, and far away from Starlightside-in-the-Morning and Mr Tummeler, as they did not want to hear them talk - it would have made them too nervous. Fred once suggested to walk down to them, but Annabel Lee and Abelard fervently opposed this well-meant idea.  
  
"We're waiting for five hours now," said Annabel Lee and Abelard nodded.  
  
"It's fifteen minutes," said Fred. "Would you like crackers?" That, for once, was a good idea.  
  
Another thirty minutes passed until the others came back to the theatre and another fifteen until Trebleclef called them all to go back on stage.  
  
"That Starlightside has a great sense of time," said Fred as he followed his old and new friend down to sit beside his grandfather, as Starlightside-in-the-Morning joined the others on stage.  
  
"Everyone I don't mention will be in the ensemble," he said. "The part of the physician will be played by Cuthberd Maiksbeard. The part of the maid will be played by Aethelthryth."  
  
The mouse happily squeaked. She really wanted that part.  
  
"The triplets will be played by you three lemurs. The professor and the old Lord will both be played by Bruin Tibert."  
  
The handsome clockwork man clapped in his hands.  
  
"Cantata the cat will play the bawd. Griselda will be played by Ludmilla-get-a-Brocade."  
  
Annabel Lee swallowed hard. Now, it was almost over.  
  
"The dual role of Evangeline and Bernadette will be played by Abelard Antwan."  
  
Annabel Lee's heartbeat stopped.  
  
"And the title role of _The Dignified Suitor_ will be played by Annabel Lee. Rehearsals begin in a moon. Have a nice day."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, after a long, long time! A little short, but I thought that would be the right place to stop.

“Two bluesickles, please,” Annabel Lee said, and got exactly them. “And thanks for the nice wishes. Broke my leg indeed,” she told him with a wink, much to the cardboard man's pleasure.  
  
It was a nice and sunny day, and both didn't have to work or study that day, so Annabel Lee and Fred decided to take a walk through the Outer Park. The Outer Park was called a park, because it had benches and flower beets, and you were not allowed to leave old Trumps or pages ripped out of notebooks around, but it was mostly simply the green area around the city, fading into seemingly endless green meadows on one side, and ending at the harbour on the other. That is, if rings even have sides, about which I am not too sure right now.  
  
Their favourite spot of the park was exactly the pathway from the park to the meadows. Fred often noted how he loved the transition from short, yellowish green grass and rainbow coloured orchids, and the lights and noises of the Narroway, to the long and soft, nearly blue grass and wild flowers. Most amazingly, it seemed as though the sun stopped shining the moment Eurus pushed you to cross over.  
  
The two of them sat down, and could feel the cold wind in their backs, and gazed over the fields, to the misty horizon, as Fred began to talk again.  
  
“I don't want to annoy you, Anna-Belly, awright, Annabel Lee. Why is it that you Lost Boys are so sensitive about your names, anyway?”  
  
“Because our names are mostly all we have, all we can hold on to. So many things go away, so many things get lost, even Lost. But once you have your Name, it will stay as it is, and when you have lost or, worse, forgotten your home, your family, your story or history, you can still say: 'I am' and perhaps someone will recognize, and lead you to safety. You can't understand that, because _you_ have never been lost, and I wish you to never get Lost. Of course, you are much to old for it, so it doesn't really matter.”  
  
Fred said nothing for awhile, then took up what he originally wanted to tell his friend: “I don't want to annoy you, Annabel Lee. And I well know, I do. Are you really happy the way you have been cast? After all, you originated Wendy, not Peter,” he said and grinned.  
  
“And so, I have the chance to do something entirely different. I feel honoured, I did by no means expect to be cast in the lead. And I hope Abelard sees it the same way.”  
  
Fred chuckled. “That incredible bird. He's really talented, isn't he? A tad eccentric, but very talented. I'm sure you'll team up well. A storm is coming.”  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“A storm is coming. Not now, but soon. I wonder what he wants.”  
  
“Or she,” said Annabel Lee.  
  
“Or she, indeed. It's an uncommon time for storms to arrive, and I always hope they won't take too much with them as they leave.”  
  
“I have not yet decided if I actually like storms, or if I dislike them.”  
  
Fred chuckled at that and slowly shook his head. “Naw, you can't like or dislike a storm. They simply are. Don't waste too much affection or aversion on them, as you will feel different each time. There is nothing steady about a storm. I just wonder of what kind this one is.”  
  
“What are the kinds of Storm, Fred?”  
  
“Methinks... Change, Chaos, and Courage. Time, 'f course, but that's diff'rent matter. I just hope it won't be destructive, ya know?”  
  
Annabel Lee frowned and looked at her friend. “Are you alright, Fred?” she asked, and he nodded quickly.  
  
“Don't bite your lip, it will get hurt in the cold wind. Don't look like that! I know it's calm still, but just wait. It will get bad, truly... I'm not nervous! Shut up, Annabel Lee, let's go home – what do _you want?_ ” he asked a butterfly that decided to rest on Annabel Lee's neck.   
  
“I don't want anything at all is what I want,” said the Butterfly, “and I want you to listen, no don't listen, listen. Listen to me, no don't, I have heard you talking, I did not spy, I only fly! I am a butterfly, Mr Butterfly, indeed, good sir! And _madam_ what a beautiful day, turn around, we have more sun here, no don't turn around, it's safe on the West! Beware of the Tempest!”  
  
At that, annoyed Fred looked up at the insect. “You feel the storm, too?”  
  
“I feel the storm, no I don't feel, I don't feel anything but love, baby, and what sweet lovers are you on a romantic da-”  
  
“Shut up, and tell about the storm!”  
  
“Storm? A Time Storm? No, good Sir, haven't for years. No, no. A bad wind, evolutionary, revolutionary, flowing hurting, healing from beneath the waters of the sea are lobsters thick as thick can be _._ Please, take care, take good care. He who killed, and who repaid, Night, will help you! You loved with a love that was more than love little pussy her coat is so warm and if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm. If you worry, follow the yellow brick road to Timur Lenk. Goodbye.”  
  
The butterfly had gorgeous teal wings with bronze coloured patterns of various kinds, and he was beautiful, and disappeared. Annabel Lee looked at him flying away, until he was entirely out of sight.  
  
“See,” said Fred, “even he agrees with me.”  
  
“You don't usually care much about an insect's opinion, Fred.”  
  
“But he _agreed_ with me. Believe me, I'm better than a weather forecast. Wind-up frogs are awfully giddy.”  
  
Dat be true. In fact, at one point, a meteorologist's apprentice used too much oil on them, and they all swirled around the observatory, which delayed the forecast by three days. Four people got the sniffles.  
  
“I think we'd better go somewhere... _warm_ ,” suggested Fred and got up, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “Or you'll get a cold in that frail dress, _dear_.”  
  
Annabel Lee scowled at that, but followed her friend whose walk was quite... uptight? She was not exactly sure how to name it. Fred didn't point out the names of flowers and their exact shades of colour, nor did he complain about the magazines left in the grass. He didn't even stop to pick some toffees from the tree Scowler Jack had planted, but he did wait for Annabel Lee, who could never resist a good toffee.  
  
“What year doin' there?” she asked her friend, who rifled through his indigo shoulder bag.  
  
“Lookin' for a Trump,” he mumbled.  
  
“A Trump, seriously? I thought we were heading for an inn!”  
  
“More of a club, actually... ah, there it is!”   
  
Annabel Lee stepped behind her noticeably shorter friend and looked at the small card he held. Actually, it was not that small, quite moderately sized, but that doesn't really matter. It pictured a dark, wooden door, quite Victorian, actually, and rain fell in front of it. It was a very gloomy sight.  
  
“That doesn't look exactly warm to me, Fred. Are you certain that's where we want to go?”  
  
“At least it's where I want to go, and you can come with me, if you want. I promise, it will be warm, and I have to look for something!”  
  
Annabel Lee sighed dramatically, and then shrugged. It couldn't be all that bad, anyway.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Where in the world are we, Fred?”  
  
“You'd better be askin': 'where in what world are we, Fred?'”  
  
“Where in what w- oh, no! Pray tell, are we in the Summer Country? We are, right?”  
  
Annabel Lee didn't like the Summer Country, not at all. She's been there twice by now and each time, it turned out to be bad for her. Now, she was standing in the rain, in a thin cream coloured dress, with an eccentrically dressed badger, and people began to stare at them.  
  
“Fred, we have to get away from here, quick!” she said, but the small mammal was still looking for his key.  
  
“It's got t' be he- ah! There it is. Let's get in, shall we?” he said with a surprising – and misplaced – serenity.   
  
“Yes, please,” hissed Annabel Lee and quickly stepped through the slowly opened door in a warm, yet dark room. The room was, for Annabel Lee's taste, overstocked, full of references that were fun for people like Fred, but uninteresting for herself.  
  
“Levon, old chap! Did ya have a nice day, despite the weather, 'f course?”  
  
Annabel Lee turned around, as she wondered who Fred was talking to. A young man stood beside a large armchair and threw some kind of powder into the fireplace. He didn't quite look like a manservant to Annabel Lee. Actually, be looked familiar.  
  
“Have you seen Charles lately?” the young man asked.  
  
“Two or three weeks ago,” said Fred. “He's quite busy right now, but don't worry, he's well. Will I be able to tell him the same about you?”  
  
“Hmm... I guess so. More busy than well, but well enough to bring him good news. Here, take a look at this”, the young man called Levon said, with a gesture towards the fireplace. The fire was slowly turning green, like  
  
“Spring,” said Annabel Lee.  
  
“Pardon me?”  
  
“Ah, nothing...”  
  
The man scowled at her. “And who are you, young lady?”  
  
“Annabel Lee.”  
  
“Might I call you Annabel, or is it Miss Lee?”  
  
Fred drew in the air sharply.  
  
“It's Annabel Lee, nothing but Annabel Lee.” She sighed, as she looked at him. “Are you related to Scowler Charles, in some way?”  
  
“Actually yes, I am his son.”  
  
Now, she scowled. “Your name's not Michael, and you are much too young, boy.”  
  
Now, Fred decided it was time to intervene. “Young Mr Ransom is not exactly Charles's son, but close to it. He tends to be unspecific about it at times, especially in this dimension.”  
  
As this was said, Fred went back to his matter of interest, and cautiously put a paw in the fire, causing Annabel Lee to gasp loudly.  
  
“Fred, take care, please!”  
  
“It's awright,” he said, then he whispered something, and drew his arm back out of the fire. He held an unknot bow tie in his hand. “Here, for you, Levon,” he said as he got up and handed it to the young man. “You might need it,” he added with a short laugh. “But this is not why we came. A great achievement, without a doubt, but we didn't expect you here.”  
  
Levon shrugged and took his head. “I was about to go, anyway. Promised the Planes to help them with a strange experiment. I first thought it was a bit, you know, profane, but some of them have unexpected talents.” He tipped his hat, looked at both for a while, and went through the fireplace, which again turned red after his departure.   
  
“Odd man,” said Annabel Lee. “Of course, what else could a son of Charles, or Alvin, be?” She chuckled and sat down beside the fire.  
  
“So, Fred, why have you brought us here?”  
  
“Do you know where we are?” asked Fred, who placed himself beside her on the soft carpet, and Annabel Lee looked around, at the cosy furniture, the liquor cabinet, the bookshelves, the pre-Raphaelites, and the other knick-knacks and whatnots the connected rooms held.  
  
“I can see why you like this place Fred, but I have not the slightest idea where we are. In London, perchance?”  
  
“Yes, in London. Where it all began, actually.”  
  
“What began?”  
  
“This is Sir Arthur's second home, where Scowler Charles led the Scowlers Jack and John, and where Bert came to meet them, after Stellan had been murdered. Tell me, Annabel Lee, have you never heard of 221B Baker Street?”  
  
“Sure I have, but how could I know you'd bring me here? And _why_?”  
  
“I just happen to know, that it's a nice and warm place to be during a storm. And I had to get out, out of the Archipelago, if only for a while.”  
  
“Fred, please tell me,” said Annabel Lee. “Is something wrong with you?”  
  
“Not with me,” said Fred. “Not with my studying, my family, Charles... but something is wrong with you. You might not know it yet, but I sense it. I'm an animal, after all.”  
  
As her friend said such an outrageous thing, Annabel Lee crossed her arms and pouted, as Lost Boys do. What could possibly be wrong with her, after all?  
  
“I'm alright, just so you know it,” she hissed, and Fred said nothing, though he scowled, being a Scowler, you know.   
  
Annabel Lee gazed around the large, warm room. It surely was a bit too dark and full for her liking, but it was comfortable nonetheless, and it reminded her of good friends. There was a picture of Sir Arthur on one wall, and a large wardrobe on the opposite. It didn't quite fit in with the rest of the furniture, as though it had been added later. The flames in the fireplace, now orange again, were too small to light up the room without any sunlight, so Annabel Lee decided to turn on a lamp.  
  
“Take care with the electricity in here,” noted Fred. “It's not too trustworthy if you want my opinion.”  
  
“We've got eclecticity? The real kind, boom and seesh, and all?” asked Annabel Lee, and pressed the small white button.  
  
  
The young shoebill sat in a pub, having quite an oily drink. Most people wouldn't have liked it, but mechanical people did. The day was mild, and still sunny, though one couldn't deny that clouds were slowly taking over the curtains' work.  
  
“Gettin' windy,” said a middle aged katta, all dressed in flannels, and sat down at the bar. “We need to get some tree houses done before the storm arrives. A melon beer, please. Thanks. Hey, you, big bird,” - the primate waved at Abelard, who sat at one of the tables. “Get over here, boy. Aren't you the leading lady in Mr Tummeler's new play?”  
  
Abelard felt a bit tense, but still decided to get up and sit beside the lemur. “Why, I am.”  
  
“You're gonna be on stage with my sons then. They're good kids, and acceptable actors. Wanted them to take over some solid work, but I guess parents can't have everything.”  
  
“Acting _is_ solid work,” said Abelard and took a sip from his drink.  
  
“No offence, ol' chap. Sure it is. But I've got to feed kids, and that's not always easy when you're alone, and then they have kids and... you know, that's how it is...” The lemur's voice drifted off.   
  
“Are they really triplets?” asked Abelard, in an awkward attempt to change the subject to something less economical.  
  
“No, no. My older son, my younger son, - I've got a daughter, too -, and one of my nephews. They look quite similar though.”  
  
 _Don't all kattas?_ thought Abelard, but didn't say anything. _I guess us shoebills look the same to them, too.  
  
_ “They made quite a good impression at the auditions. Have you seen them?”  
  
“Yes, I did. I wish their father could have done so... he never had to work on Saturday mornings, you see... But things are the way they are. Are you happy with your part?” the katta asked and took a sip from her beer.   
  
“Yes, I am. And I am very happy about my leading _man_. Annabel Lee's a bit odd, but so am I, and we get along well.”  
  
“The Lost Boy, right? She's a friend of Tummeler's grandson, Fred. Quite a good match, if you ask me.”  
  
“Do you mean? Oh, no. Annabel Lee is a fantastic actress, I've seen her, she's certainly not cast because of their friendship.” Abelard felt quite indignant. Just as he thought he had found a new friend, another friendship's worth has been questioned. Or has it?  
  
The lemur frowned and shook her head. “That's not what I meant... I meant, they are a good match. Being a friend of _Fred Tummeler_ is quite a status. And that, being a girl from such a simple background. Fred Tummeler, oh my...”  
  
“What's so special about him? He's a nice chap, but I haven't noticed anything unusual about him.”  
  
“He's a Caretaker, isn't that enough?”  
  
“A Caretaker?” asked Abelard. “Of what?”  
  
Now, the bartender, a mild human being, chuckled. “A Caretaker of the _Imaginarium Geographica._ What else would you have thought?”  
  
“He's the first animal to take over such a place. I admire him immensely,” said the katta. “I'm so happy to have my sons be in a play of his grandfather, with his best friend!”  
  
“So... _they do exist_?”  
  
Now, everyone near enough to have overheard their conversation stared at Abelard. Who, they thought, didn't know the _Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica_ existed?  
  
  
Annabel Lee and Fred coughed, and sneezed, and rubbed their eyes. The room they were in was light, but lighter than they would have expected. They have left 221B Baker Street, as least as they knew it, and not through a green flame in the fireplace.

 


	7. Chapter 7

A light and high sound was heard throughout the entirety of Tamerlane House. It was the voice of a Lost Boy, and the voice was full of anger. And something else?  
  
“Shaksbeard! Will you get over here?”  
  
“Will doesn't really have time right now, but I could help you,” said a much gentler voice.  
  
“But I need _him_!” was the Lost Boy's response. “That old fool's a genius! No offence, Rose Dyson.”  
  
The soft-voiced girl tilted her brightly dark head. “I could still help you, Laura Glue. I _am_ quite good at hanging up garlands.” And so, she took up one end and helped her friend with decorating the ballroom, one of the most infrequently used rooms of Tamerlane House. She had to stand on a small bench though, as the Lost Boy was quite a bit taller than her.  
  
“I think this looks good,” said Rose Dyson, but Laura Glue shook her head.  
  
“No, nothing looks good in here. We'll have to change it all!”  
  
Rose Dyson scowled. “You know, many women are nervous before their wedding...”  
  
“Well, I am not. It's the Truth, Rose. I am worried, but I don't know why. And I still haven't got any news from that damn Annabel Lee! She promised to tell Fred to tell Charles to tell me when she got cast, and she said nothing. She should be here already! The wedding is in two weeks.”  
  
“She'll be here soon,” said Rose. “I am sure she will.”  
  
“What if she won't be here in time? Who would be my maid of honour?”  
  
“I could be...” Now, Rose blushed, as Laura Glue frowned. “Of course, that's silly. She'll be here soon. I promise. I want your wedding to be magnificent, Laura Glue.”  
  
“I know, Rose. I know, you do.” Laura Glue took a deep breath. “SHAKSBEARD! GET OVER HERE! NOW! OR I PROMISE, I WILL FLOG YOU!”  
  
And the walls of Tamerlane House shivered, and not because of the voice of a Lost Boy, filled with anger, and something else.  
  
  
Fred got up, and rubbed his eyes with his paws. “Toto, I've a feeling we're _not in Kansas any more._ ”  
  
Their surroundings were sunlit, and truly beautiful. The walls were made of white marble, and the floor was smoother than any stone they knew. The fireplace was gone, and so were most objects, safe for some paintings, plenty of books, the wardrobe, and the liquor cabinet. The rarely used balcony was much larger now, and the doors were open. Annabel Lee slowly got up and walked towards the beautiful balustrade.  
  
“I have read about in-betweens, but I have never visited one,” said Fred. “You can only do by accident – and accidents don't work out on purpose.”  
  
The chaotic traffic of London smoothly faded into a deep blue sea, beneath the whitest beach Fred had ever seen, and the pale rain fell slowly from the bright, clear sky. The balustrade was decorated with light green gemstones, which Annabel Lee appeared to enjoy immensely. She stroked them as though they were furry, friendly and alive, and let out a childish laugh with every twinkle she saw.  
  
Fred watched his friend, as she drew in the crisp, salty air, and listened to her, as she murmured an old lullaby. The wind got stronger with every hum, but Annabel Lee did not seem to mind. She never noticed when she got too cold.  
  
Fred could hear the beat of incredibly large wings, yet he saw nothing. Nothing, but... lights? Soft, irregular lights, moving independently from the sun.  
  
“Annabel Lee,” said Fred. “Do you see them too?”  
  
“Of course, I do!” It was the first thing she had said since their arrival in this unusual place. “I wish I had brought my wings with me!” She waved at the horizon, much to her companion's surprise.  
  
“Hullo! My friends, are you feeling well?”  
  
Annabel Lee was freezing, but she didn't know. All she longed for was to meet the people she thought to be her friends, which they probably were, but not now and not here. Her eyes were glassy, and her face was pale, and her bare arms were full of goosebumps. The wind was getting stronger, much stronger, with the endless beat of massive wings, which Fred could hear, and which Annabel Lee could see. They were beautiful. Immense, frightening, comforting, and beautiful, drawing Annabel Lee in a most chilling sort of trance, and not for the first time. Fred knew these people too, but he did not recognize them.  
  
Truly chilling, he thought. The sun was shining, the beach was white and dry, despite the London rain, and it was cold as New Year's Eve in the middle of Spring. He stared at the twinkling lights for, well, a few minutes perhaps? But then, he a felt a movement beside him: Annabel Lee's attempt to join her old acquaintances.  
  
The balustrade was slick, Annabel Lee was surprisingly weak – she had never been, since he had known her – and most of all, she did not bring her wings.  
  
“Annabel Lee, stop it! You can't fwy, Annabel Lee, don't do this!”  
  
“Don't worry Fred, they'll carry me!”  
  
“No! They won't! They are miles away, if they are here at all! Annabel Lee!”  
  
Annabel Lee might have been a small human being, but she was a human being, after all – twice his size, and more than thrice his weight. And so, Fred had to do it the animal way.  
  
  
“Now look, who'll be joining us for dinner,” said a thin, bespectacled man, as he went through the door of one of the smaller dining rooms.  
  
“Uncle Uncas! Mr Tummeler!” exclaimed Rose Dyson, as she went up to hug their guests. “And Damaris, and Mrs Tummeler, how nice to see you all! I didn't expect you here, when have you last joined us?”  
  
Laura Glue frowned, but got up from her chair to greet them all, and so did Hawthorne and Twain, who liked a true meal once in a while. Schubert shyly waved at them, without looking up from his waffles.  
  
“Laura Glue,” said Mr Tummeler, “you will be delighted to hear, that your friend Annabel Lee got cast in the title role of my new play, _The Dignified Suitor_. She must be celebrating now with my grandson Fred, the auditions went fabulously, everyone is glad and all...” He said cheerfully and took a seat, to gladly watch a big pile of blueberry pancakes appear on a shiny plate.  
  
“That's great,” said Laura Glue and forced herself to smile. For a second she thought that Schubert had touched her arm, but as she looked at him, he was still staring at his dinner as though it was a sheet of magical (and very syrupy) notepaper.  
  
“We are here t' prepare you for yer wedding, dearest,” said Mrs Tummeler. “At least _I_ am,” she added with a squint to Damaris, who cared more about her sorbet.  
  
“We're all very excited, Laura Glue,” said Uncas. “'Tis an 'mportant happ'ning, such a wedding. And look, what I have got here for you.” He held a beautiful bracelet in his paw, made from bronze, stone, and silk.  
“Something old,” said his wife in a very gentle voice. “You'll have to start in the past, trying to find all you need for your grand day.”  
  
“Where's the lucky young man, actually?” asked Tummeler, and Laura Glue shrugged. “He shuts himself away these days, always working. I don't know what he's mapping any more...” said Hawthorne in her place.  
  
“Perhaps he doesn't know either,” said Damaris with a wink. “Or do you know, Charles?”  
  
“Actually, I don't, my companion. He is really productive lately, but I don't make much sense of his work. Not that I'd mind. Good sandwiches.”  
  
Rose sighed and leaned back. She had sandwiches too – with peanut butter, ketchup, mayonnaise, cream cheese, onions and lettuce, much to Twain's detest. “Can I have another dill pickle with my milkshake?”  
  
Laura Glue thought her head was about to explode. She got up in a hurry and left the room without another word.  
  
“Her behaviour is dreadful these days,” said Hawthorne and Twain scowled at the door.  
  
“She's worried,” said a mild voice, “because her friend is in danger.” The small round stared at Schubert, and the walls of Tamerlane House shivered again.  
  
  
St. Jerome's Hospital on Paralon had walls of white stone and large windows, but it was nonetheless dark. Fred sat on a narrow wooden bench, right in front of a door. A calm nurse – a young otter woman – had injected him a sedative and cleaned his muzzle and his paws. She was very understanding, and assured him that all he had done was right. He wondered if a human would have said, or thought, the same.  
  
“What is her name family name?”  
  
None.  
  
“Her age?”  
  
Good question.  
  
“Who will take care of her?”  
  
“Me, and my family,” said Fred. It was out of question for him. “My grandfather is her employer and landlord, and we are all good friends.”  
  
The nurse frowned, and stroked a loose whisper out of her sight. Her pencil showed traces of frequent chewing, and she was a silent, and insecure thing.  
  
“What was the weather like in this... place?”  
  
Fred frowned. “Well, the London part was rainy, and mild. The beach was sunny and warm, but there was a cold wind.”  
  
“How cold exactly?”  
  
“I don't know... March weather, I'd say. Tad too late, but that's nothing special.”  
  
“Then why,” asked a chilling voice from the door, “was Miss Annabel Lee cold as ice? It was a nearly impossible task to raise her temperature again.”  
  
  
Pink daisies, bouquets of pink daisies. Annabel Lee loved them, their look, their smell. They were simple but never bland, and you could make flower crowns out of them. There was a box of chocolates on her small night stand, and another box, filled with pistachios. And a raven sat on the windowsill, and fled as she saw him. It was only now that she noticed the bandage on her right arm, and the pain within it, and so she gave up her attempt to raise her body out of her bed. She had been in this hospital before, but in a different room. This one looked better. She wondered if they had renovated the building since her last stay there, or if she had gotten a more comfortable room because of her new status as an... actual person, you know? Not just a Lost Boy. Her health was certainly more stable this time.  
  
Someone knocked on the door. Perhaps this person could tell her why she has been sent to St. Jerome's?  
  
“You may come in, whoever you are...”  
  
It was a girl, who looked much younger than Annabel Lee, with bronze skin, copper hair, and amber eyes. She wore bright colours, and had a friendly face. They knew each other, loosely.  
  
“Annabel Lee, you alright?” her visitor asked.  
  
“I guess so, I don't know what I am doing here... Or what you are doing on Paralon, Rose.”  
  
The girl smiled gently, and sat down on her white bedsheets, and took her hand in hers. “You're still so cold,” she said and put it back. “I came because of Laura Glue, you see. She was nervous these days, and she's never nervous.”  
  
“Of course, but why now?”  
  
“Because of you. You should have come to tell her about your part in the play, and to help with her wedding, but you didn't, and she worried about you. I assured her you'd be fine, but I was wrong.”  
  
Annabel Lee stared at the bland, white ceiling, which happened to be the same in every room, and when she found she had seen enough of it, she fixed her eyes on Rose, who sat still by her side.  
  
“What's this in your hand?”  
  
“A letter for your doctor. I got it from Charles, who got it from Hawthorne, but I don't know who gave it to him. Or do you think he wrote it?”  
  
Charles... Annabel Lee sat up on her bed. “Where is Fred? Is he alright? We were together...” she began, but panted too heavily from pain and exhaustion to continue to talk – or to remember. “Do you know what happened to me, Rose? And what happened to Fred?” she asked as she laid back in her bed again.  
  
And even though it was not all that true, Rose said, “Fred is alright,” as she stacked up Annabel Lee's pillows, to help her stay in a more comfortable position. “Last time I saw him, he was helping with some papers about you – yes, I know you don't like that –, and Uncas, who drove me here, told me about his intention to have Fred share a cake with him at the cafeteria. By the way, you should be hungry by now, you haven't eaten in twelve hours.”  
  
Twelve hours? Annabel Lee's head ached as she heard it, and so did her stomach. “I don't think I could eat now, Rose,” she said. “I feel as though I had just eaten an immense meal.”  
  
Rose frowned and opened the window, to let some mild Spring air into the sticky room. “That must be the strengthening potion you got from that weird doctor,” she said. “Or that cute nurse. Or the weird nurse, yeah the weird nurse, not the weird doctor or cute nurse... At least have some nuts.”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
“Then I will get _you_ some cake.”  
  
“Well, if you insist. Do as you please.”  
  
Rose Dyson laughed, “Oh you Lost Boys drive me crazy,” she said, and Annabel Lee laughed, too, yet she did not at all feel like it.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chocolate, blackberry, raspberry, strawberry, peach, orange, vanilla, lemon, lime, woodruff, mint, blueberry. Oh my.  
  
If there was anything St. Jerome's, as a hospital, did _not_ lack, it was, for sure, cake. Uncas sometimes went there only to have a good second breakfast, although he refused to attend when he fell off Rosinante.  
  
(If you ever meet a strange old Spanish knight with a skinny horse, and he tells you **not** to mount her, do **not** mount her. Even if you are, in fact, his squire.)  
  
His dear son rested his furry little head beside a large plate of untouched gooseberry bars, and a glass of equally green tea, in which Uncas dipped a butter cookie.  
  
“You should go home, an' rest,” he said, yet Fred made no reaction, except for letting out a light sigh.  
  
“I know ya feelin' bad, but all you've done was right, and now ya should really take a break,” his father continued. “Go home, or take a hotel room, go anywhere ya cud gather ya strength.” As he said this, he lifted his son up by his shoulder, and Fred looked into his eyes for the first time since Uncas came to the hospital after Trebleclef (who was informed by the staff of St. Jerome's to be asked about matters of Annabel Lee's financial situation) had told him about the accident at the in-between.  
  
“You are right,” Fred finally said. “Thank you, dad. I shall better be going somewhere else. This place always makes my feel head dizzy,” he added, and Uncas agreed onthis. What Uncas didn't know, was that Fred had no intention of going home, or to a hotel room, or to rest.

 

* * *

  
  
“Well,” he said pointing at a large, black vehicle, “this is Jo.” The young badger walked towards it and opened a door, whilst the shoebill looked at it in surprise.  
  
“What an unusual name for a principle! But why the funny smell?” he asked.  
  
“Actually, it's not a principle,” said Fred, “it's an automobile. Scowler John gave it to me after he crashed it into a wall. My dad helped me repair it in our free time. But I drive very seldom.”  
  
Abelard frowned at the car. “An automobile? Like those things they drive in the Summer Country? I've heard about them in school. They need petrol, am I right?”  
  
Fred nodded. “Hence the smell,” he said. “Take a seat.”  
  
Abelard did as he was told and looked through the dirty windscreen. He wasn't comfortable at all, even when Fred followed him and took a seat to his right. He was even less comfortable when Fred turned the ignition key and lost all his repose the moment the Morris Cowley chose off with a loud howl, and out of the old storage hall, that was once used by _Tummeler & Sons_ but was now empty for the most part.  
  
“Where exactly are we heading for?” asked Abelard as they drove through the ancient City of Paralon, the elegant streets of the South, the simple settlements of the West, the Castle Road, all surrounded by blossoming apple trees. It was a gorgeous sunny day, but Fred was unable to see the beauty around him, and drove too fast to let at least his companion enjoy it.  
  
“To a place very dear to my heart. And to Annabel Lee's heart, too, although she may not admit it. Far away, and long ago,” said Fred. “It's very beautiful, indeed. Yes, very special, and it has been my home for quite a few years by now.”  
  
“Has it also been Annabel Lee's home?” asked Abelard, who cared more about Annabel Lee than he thought at first.  
  
“Well, no,” said Fred. “Not actually. But it is the home of someone very dear to her, and a part of her will always live there.”  
  
Fred drove through more alleys, past peach and almond and cherry trees, the last houses of the City and the first cottages in a nearby village. He only stopped to get out of the automobile, open a and close a large iron gate, they drobe through.  
  
“Are you allowed to do this?” asked Abelard, and the badger nodded.  
  
“It's my grandfather's property. I use it for a very special reason,” he said. He continued driving, until they came to a large, georgeous horse chestnut. There, they left the car, and Fred pulled a small card out of his jacket's pocket. “There,” he said the the shoebill. “Concentrate on it. I am sure you will find this way of travel to be much more comfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter in a very long time, and a short one, too. The next one will be longer, and arrive sooner.


End file.
